


Promising Bud

by 3RatMoon



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Chronic Illness, Dryad Fantasmo, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mortality, Spoilers for Spring in Hieron, trans alyosha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 23:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21107435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3RatMoon/pseuds/3RatMoon
Summary: It was the first time in almost ten years that Alyosha did something selfish.





	Promising Bud

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone on my private twitter who has encouraged me over writing my longest one-shot yet! And thanks to Nico for agreeing to beta, even though I got too excited and posted this early.

It was the first time in almost ten years that Alyosha did something selfish.

The meeting with Ephrim and Fero had gone well enough. They had come to an understanding, Alyosha thought. The Druid, though contrarian and distrustful, seemed to relent after he explained why he did what he did. Alyosha saw in him someone genuine— someone who was only angry because of past injustice, only closed-off because of past betrayal— and Alyosha was satisfied that he was able to prove himself trustworthy to him, however small the circumstances.

The interaction made Alyosha realize just how much he missed people. He knew that he did, even as he submitted to his necessary labour year after year, but he was surprised by how much just one small connection drew him in. It was just a part of his nature, to love people, to turn to them and to hope like a flower turns to the sun. He had meant it when he told Ephrim that he hoped he could prove him wrong. Even as he worked, days and months and years, through pain and exhaustion that wracked him from moment to moment, he still hoped that it would be ultimately unnecessary. He hoped for a world that could be not just Something instead of Nothing, but maybe, someday, something resembling a home again.

But, of course, there was still the matter of Arrell.

It was in Alyosha’s nature to turn towards hope, but he always knew it was a possibility. To finally know what had happened, to finally know how their story ended, was truly a relief to him. And, of course, it was a great loss. The letter seemed to outline, perfectly, the tragedy of their love. Arrell had kept this final letter with him, likely everywhere he went. For years, maybe. Even as Arrell worked endlessly on his plans to save Hieron, no matter how it corrupted him, Alyosha was always there at the back of his mind, just as Arrell was always in Alyosha’s. Even then, at the very end.

But even all that love, still there, was never enough for Arrell to stray from his path. Even all of Alyosha’s hopes were never enough to bring his Tutor back to him.

Alyosha knew when they saw each other on that moonlit hill that it likely would be their last. Arrell had changed from the person he loved long before that day, and changed further still. That was why Alyosha sent that letter before that sunless day on that hill, and why he stayed in the Forge and worked on his own plans to save Hieron, no matter how it broke him, rather than find some way to reach out. He had already reached out so many times before, after all.

However, that did not mean that he did not love, even just a little. It did not mean that he did not hope, even just a little. It did not mean that he did not grieve— did not continue to grieve, even as the sobs quieted and he got up again to resume his work, ribs hurting and knees threatening to buckle, stray tears mixing with the last remains of Divine blood on the anvil…

In the retelling of the tale, should it come to pass, it would be the magic of Alyosha’s tears and the blood in the Forge that made it happen. Alyosha knew that the truth was far more strange and mundane. After all, if it were possible that the desire of a people was strong enough to dream up a god, then he and his desire could have been enough to make this. And he did desire it, vision blurry with tears or exhaustion as he worked. He wished more than anything for that connection again, for the possibility of something good, and he reached for it, reached with all of his love and hope and loss, for anything that felt like even the whisper of the man he once loved, and drew it in to him, into the Spring, in the wild desire to have just the seed of something he could keep.

All of it felt like a dream, and it felt like it even more so when he woke later, slumped against the anvil. It wasn’t uncommon for him to wake like that, aching and tasting copper and bile in his mouth. He had a bed and all the earthly fixtures he needed, but sometimes he simply didn’t make the distance. It was a reality of his life, and there was no one around to see him in such a state, so he simply carried on. However, when he finally wrenched himself up and into his working chair, he found that he was not alone.

The dryad was tall and thin, with long leaves like a robe or cloak that trailed down into the groundcover like they had just grown up out of it. They were pale green, with bright eyes and striking dark purple foliage on their head. As Alyosha looked up, they were studying their hands in a very focused and curious way. However, those traits were all things that Alyosha only noted after the fact. In the moment between when he saw the dryad and when the dryad saw him, he merely gaped, gripping the anvil to keep from falling out of his seat, because the figure in front of him looked so, so much like Arrell.

Perhaps Alyosha made a sound, because the dryad looked up suddenly.

“Oh, hello there. I thought I was alone,” they said, pleasant if a bit stiff. “Do you happen to know how I came here, and…” They raised their hands again, frowning at their trailing, leafy sleeves. “...in such a state?”

Alyosha’s heart sank. No, of course. The dryad couldn’t have truly been Tutor, no matter how alike the appearance. No, they were merely someone with a familiar face, brought to life by his mad, selfish grief.

Alyosha swallowed, trying to wet his dry throat. “That is likely my doing, I’m afraid,” he said.

The dryad’s eyebrows went up again, but not in an accusatory way. “Oh?” they said. They took a step towards Alyosha, unhurried, eyes looking in every direction to take in the vast green space. “Where might this be, then? It looks nothing like anywhere in the University.”

That comment got Alyosha’s attention, but he still answered the question first. “You are in what was once the Holy Forge. The King-God Samothes would have practiced his craft here, long ago.” 

Very, very long ago, he thought.

Alyosha swallowed again. “Do you, ah, have a name?” he asked. It was an awkward phrasing; none of the Spring had a name, not in the same way, but this dryad had already proved to be different from the rest.

“Oh, of course! Please excuse me,” the dryad replied, and gave a deep, formal bow. “I am The Great Fantasmo, wizard and teacher of wizardry at the Last University!”

Silence fell for a moment as Alyosha sat, slightly taken aback. Where had he heard that name before? Questions multiplied in his mind until he was finally startled out of it by Fantasmo clearing his throat dramatically. Alyosha looked down, and the wizard was still bowed, except for the tilt of his head as he looked up, expectant.

“Oh! I… my name is Alyosha,” Alyosha stuttered.

Fantasmo paused for a moment longer, clearly waiting for some declaration of title, but there being none, he stood up again.

“Well, then,” he said, a little stilted. “Well met, Alyosha of the Holy Forge.”

“Yes,” Alyosha agreed, distracted. Wheels were turning in his head again. Carefully, he moved from his chair to kneel and pick up his hammer.

“If I may… What is the last thing you remember?” he asked.

Fantasmo paused, looking thoughtful. “I… was teaching at the University,” they answered. “As I have for years. I do not remember what the last lecture was. There’s so many classes on so many elements of magic that I have taught that they all begin to blend together after a while… chronologically speaking, of course.”

Alyosha looked at the wizard, bright-eyed and intelligent and so desperately overwrought that he found it endearing, and he felt a terrible, deep sadness grip him.

He looked down at the anvil.

“I am afraid there is much for you to catch up on, Fantasmo, and little of it will be good news,” he said, adjusting his grip on the hammer. “Come, we can talk as I work.”

* * *

Fantasmo remained with Alyosha in the Forge for a long time, much longer than Alyosha expected. The wizard was fascinated by his new state as well as the workings of the Spring itself. He would stay in the largest chamber where Alyosha worked, thinking and theorizing and experimenting with his new control over the plants around him, mumbling to himself and writing down notes on gathered leaves. He only interrupted Alyosha occasionally to ask questions, seeming to prefer answering things on his own. Alyosha found his presence companionable, reminding him of when he once would go to the libraries or chapels to study, just to be in a space with others in mutual concentration.

One day, Fantasmo approached Alyosha’s seat at the anvil, notes in hand. “Excuse me, Alyosha,” he said. “May I share some of my theory with you? It is little more than a rough draft, of course…” His mumble trailed off completely.

Alyosha paused and looked down at the anvil, then back up at Fantasmo.

“Please,” he said, sitting back in his chair.

At the confirmation, Fantasmo dove into a diatribe in the practiced way that Alyosha imagined came from a lifetime of lecturing. The wizard managed to sound decisive even as he kept flipping through his notes and adding caveats and other possibilities onto every other statement. Alyosha found that he enjoyed Fantasmo’s theories. It was interesting to him, seeing the Spring from this new perspective based on the physical and quantifiable more than intuition. Distantly, Alyosha wondered how far Fantasmo had tried reaching his senses, if he could feel the entirety of the Spring to which he was connected.

When Alyosha came back to himself, Fantasmo had stopped talking.

“Is, uh… Is something the matter?” the wizard asked, cautiously.

Alyosha almost said no reflexively, but the look of quiet concern in Fantasmo’s eyes stopped him.

“You seem to be… taking all of this rather well,” he said finally, struggling to summarize everything in a single specific statement.

The wizard raised one mossy eyebrow. “Everything as in, the world being threatened with consumption by the Heat and the Dark, the Spring's response to that, my being part of the Spring…?”

Alyosha nodded slowly. “You haven’t returned to the University since you… awoke here,” he continued.

“Well, yes…” Fantasmo shifted, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

Alyosha pressed on, trying to be reassuring. “The University is very different from how you may remember it, but it is far from a ruin. I am acquainted with a few of its current residents, and—”

“That is  _ not _ why—!” Fantasmo started, forcefully, but then abruptly fell silent.

For several moments, they both looked at each other, unable to speak. Alyosha briefly wondered what the wizard had wanted to say, but could only think of all the words sticking in his own throat. Apologies. Excuses. He looked away first, reaching for his hammer where it lay on the flat surface of the anvil.

“I… ought to go check up on everything,” Fantasmo said finally. “Perhaps there will be a clue as to how I came here, as well. Beyond what we already know, of course.”

Alyosha nodded mutely.

Fantasmo paused, then approached him, closer than he had in much of their time together. Alyosha chanced a glance up just in time to see the wizard direct an imperius look at him, hands on his hips.

“While I am gone, I want  _ you _ —” He pointed a finger at Alyosha. “—to rest for a while.”

Alyosha sat back, startled. “I…”

“ _ No _ buts!” Fantasmo retorted, his intonation strict to the point of sounding ridiculous. “It is an essential practice to work with what one has, and while I now have a body that feeds only on the Heat and the Dark, you do not.”

Alyosha bowed his head, feeling at once embarrassed, annoyed, and strangely fond.

Fantasmo dropped the chiding professor act for a moment, voice softened. “You told me yourself that the Spring has largely taken hold by now. Taking some time to rest will not doom it.”

Alyosha looked down at the hammer in his lap. It was true.

Sighing, he met Fantasmo’s eyes. “You go to the University, and I will go rest a little.”

For just a moment, Fantasmo looked pleased. But then he stepped back, business-like, smoothing his face over into neutrality.

“I will not take long,” he said, making a sweeping gesture with one arm. “Fare well, Alyosha of the Holy Forge.”

Alyosha was about to say fare well in return, or perhaps that just Alyosha was enough, but in the same moment, there was a flash of green, and Fantasmo was gone.

Fantasmo wasn’t gone too long, as far as Alyosha could tell. The passage of time was difficult to compare to time on the Surface. Alyosha did work during the wizard’s absence, unable to help himself, but he did spend some time in bed as well. He slept lightly, dreamt a little maybe, and managed to resist the urge to get up the moment he was awake.

He even masturbated, which he hadn’t done except on the rare occasion that he found himself unable to work but also unable to sleep. Then, it was frustrated and rushed, not an erotic act so much as a desperate grasping for some kind of relief. Having just emerged from sleep rather than trying to find it, Alyosha felt no sense of urgency. He touched himself slowly, remapping planes of sensation that he had either forgotten or had changed somewhere in the past decade of neglect. When he came, it was almost a surprise. Few things had felt that easy in a very, very long time.

When Fantasmo returned, Alyosha was in his seat at the anvil, considering whether or not to start his work, and where. But then, there was a flash in the center of the huge chamber of the Forge, and he looked up. Fantasmo was wearing a different set of robes, carrying his old foliaged garments with him, along with several books and scrolls. When he set those down, Alyosha spied a satchel over his shoulder as well.

“You seem to have had a fruitful expedition,” Alyosha said, surprised by how relieved his own voice sounded.

“I have indeed,” Fantasmo replied. He set his bag down next to the pile of books before turning to Alyosha. “Did you keep your side of the bargain?”

“I did,” Alyosha said, though he figured it looked suspiciously like he had not, being that he was in precisely the same place he had been when the wizard left.

Fantasmo surprised him, though, when he walked closer, scrutinizing him, before standing back and looking pleased. “So you have. The shadows underneath your eyes are less deep than before,” he declared.

Alyosha felt the tingling of a flush at the attention. “Did the people at the Last University treat you well?” he asked, rather than pursue that line of thought.

“Oh, yes, they were quite hospitable once they realized who I was. I—” Fantasmo changed, then. In the middle of busying himself with his new belongings, he suddenly stood and turned to Alyosha. His face held something like awe, or grief.

“I was an illusion, Alyosha,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

Alyosha set his hammer down.

“At first, someone saw me and thought I was the enemy,” Fantasmo started. He made frustrated, choppy gestures as he spoke. “But then they recognized me and embraced me as though I was a long lost companion! And I was, in a way. Well, I didn’t  _ die _ because I was never, er, never technically  _ alive _ before…”

Fantasmo brought a hand to his face. His gaze was distant, a deep crease in his forehead. It was like he couldn’t believe what he was saying, either. “I was created by another wizard, as a… decoy, I suppose. I took his place teaching at the University while he continued his own work in secret. This must have gone on for some years, because the version of me the others met was much older. Well, except…”

Fantasmo stopped again, going back quickly to his satchel. The item he fetched from it was a crystalline sphere big enough to fit comfortably in his hand. As he approached again, Alyosha could see the faint glow it emitted.

“The boy— Benjamin, I believe, a very talented lad at any rate— had found several of these in the University.” The wizard smiled faintly. “They are some of my lectures, crystallized and preserved. Here.”

Fantasmo made a gesture, and the abstract sparkling at the centre of the sphere shifted and resolved into the bust of a person who was unmistakably Fantasmo, not as a dryad, but an elf. The shape of him was a little blurry, his voice crackling like a log on a fire, but it was him.

“It is common aphorism that no  _ effect  _ comes without matching  _ cost,” _ said the pale gold ghost of the Great Fantasmo. “This is, of course, absolute tripe. What would be the point of our  _ science _ if not to offset the two in our own favor?”

The image continued on as the Fantasmo-of-the-present spoke. “Benjamin claims that the voice and image was much clearer until a few months ago. I believe that is close to the time that I came to be here, though the precise relation of the passage of time here and the passage of time there is not known to me quite yet…”

Fantasmo stopped and looked at Alyosha. The lecture continued on for a moment with “...address reality and  _ negotiate,” _ before Fantasmo ceased the magic that propelled it and the sphere dimmed to its previous glow.

The dryad had a look of apology on his face. “The young man… Lord Ephrim… he said that you may be upset by this news,” he said softly. “I was… holding off on telling you the name of the who created me initially, but I gather that you may already know.”

Alyosha realized he was shaking. He did know, of course. He feared it when Fantasmo first said that the other wizard also taught at the University. Then, he saw the crystallized lecture and was immediately transported through time, to when he was young and his and Arrell’s love was still new, to when Arrell still visited once a year and Alyosha still had hopes of making a husband of him.

“When I was last in Velas, Hadrian mentioned a Fantasmo in his party, both in his travels to Eventide and the Mark of the Erasure,” Alyosha said in lieu of answering. His voice sounded to him like it was coming from far away. “I had no idea…”

Fantasmo was no longer looking at him. “Were… you and Tutor Arrell close?”

Alyosha felt the question like a physical blow. He let out a sound that may have been the start of a laugh, or a scoff, or perhaps a sob.

After a long silence, he finally said, “Once. A very long time ago.”

Fantasmo didn’t say anything more. Alyosha’s quiet, shaky breaths felt cacophonous against the silence. His face was wet, and there was a thickness at the back of his throat, which meant he had been crying for a few minutes already.

“Excuse me,” he said in barely more than a whisper. He stood from his chair. “I believe it best if I retire early for now.”

Alyosha didn’t look back to see if Fantasmo acknowledged him, or even looked his way. He just hobbled silently back through the curtain of ivy that separated the Forge itself from his tiny living space, where he could be alone.

Predictably, sleep did not find him, and he spent some time in restless agony. The full understanding of what he did sat like a weight on his chest. He eventually tried to produce an orgasm in a desperate hope for some kind of distraction, but his fantasies kept bringing him back to Arrell, to Fantasmo, to Arrell touching him and Fantasmo looking at him and Arrell kissing him and speaking in Fantasmo’s voice.

After that, Alyosha just turned over in his bed and cried bitter, guilty tears into the clover that made up his pillow. He cried because Arrell had made Fantasmo. He cried because Arrell was dead. He cried because he had fallen in love with Arrell in the first place. He cried because he still longed for that person Arrell had been, the person that Arrell had lost and now never would reclaim. Alyosha cried because it seemed that he could not stop wishing for selfish, impossible things, and could not stop somehow hurting others in that longing.

Alyosha did not feel better after his tears dried. He simply felt different; hollowed out and exhausted instead of too full of pain and grief. Still, that feeling at least passed more quickly than the first, as his body finally succumbed to sleep.

  
  


* * *

Alyosha did not see Fantasmo for a little while after that. He saw occasional evidence of the dryad’s presence— a spare robe appearing and disappearing, a book left open on his favorite stone ledge— but Alyosha never saw him in person.

Alyosha did not mind, or at least tried to convince himself that he didn’t. He understood that Fantasmo would not want to be around the former lover of the person who made and discarded him without a second thought. What actually perplexed Alyosha was that Fantasmo still came to the Forge at all. He was tied to the Spring, but the Spring was all over Hieron by that point. There was nothing tying him there. Alyosha wondered if Fantasmo was keeping an eye on him, perhaps, unable to trust him to the degree that Ephrim and Fero did.

Eventually, the call of his work overcame Alyosha’s curiosity, and he pondered on it no more. He did not pursue Fantasmo, nor did the wizard pursue him. They remained in a silent stalemate, coming and going but never meeting.

Sometimes, though, Alyosha would wake after collapsing at the anvil, and he would his blanket laid over him.

Then, one morning (or the closest thing), Alyosha passed through the ivy into the Forge and was surprised to see Fantasmo there. Fantasmo was surprised as well, evidently, for he stood suddenly when he arrived, scrambling to gather his supplies.

Alyosha held up a hand before he realized what he was doing. “Wait,” he said.

Fantasmo paused, eyeing him warily. His inkpot and quill were balanced precariously on the many books in his arms.

“Before you go, may I say one thing?” Alyosha asked. He felt like he was being rash. Even so, he already had the wizard’s attention, he thought. He might as well try.

Fantasmo was quiet for a moment, then said, “You may.”

Alyosha sighed and leaned against the anvil.

“I don’t regret what I did,” he said slowly, carefully. “I know that you aren’t him. You are your own person. My only regret is that what I did put you in the middle of things that are not your making.”

There was a long silence while the two of them looked at each other.

Alyosha swallowed. “That is all.”

Fantasmo nodded slowly. “I do not regret your decision either,” he said. “Though, of course, it is the nature of the living to be invested in their own lives.”

Fantasmo looked at him, and Alyosha saw just the barest quirk at the corner of his mouth. Alyosha grinned back, wry, trying not to show the wave of relief that broke across him.

“Take care, Fantasmo,” he said.

“And you as well,” Fantasmo replied. “Don’t forget to rest once in a while!”

The wizard started to make a chiding gesture, but he had to stop immediately when his tower of books and writing implements wobbled precariously.

Alyosha stifled a chuckle behind his hand. “Alright, I will.”

Thankfully, Fantasmo’s pride didn’t seem wounded, though he stood there awkwardly for a moment even after he composed himself, like he was trying to think of something to say. Eventually, he just gave a little nod and disappeared.

After that, Fantasmo started to show his face more often. Sometimes, Alyosha wake to the sound of him writing, and Alyosha would make a show of walking around his room multiple times, moving his few belongings around, just to make sure the wizard knew he was awake. Sometimes, Alyosha would even go and lay back in bed for a while, just listening. Every time, whether he waited or not, Fantasmo was still there when Alyosha finally picked up his cane and walked out.

“Good morning,” Fantasmo would say. “Rest well, I hope?”

“Well enough, I believe,” Alyosha would reply, and then he would sit down and work.

They had found a routine again. The scratch of quill on paper and the whisper of turning pages mixed with the strikes of the hammer. They would talk during breaks, exchanging news as much as odd thoughts that occur to them. All of it made some kind of feeling well up in Alyosha, like a nostalgia or some other kind of longing, though he deliberately did not think deeper on it.

“Ephrim has said that you are welcome to the Last University should you ever come to visit,” Fantasmo said one day.

“That is very kind of him,” Alyosha replied with a small smile and kept hammering.

Fantasmo said nothing for several moments, which tipped Alyosha off. He stopped hammering and looked up.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Fantasmo had that look that he got when he was feeling inarticulate or otherwise reluctant to speak, which was very contrary to his generally verbose nature. He cleared his throat awkwardly and loosened the collar of his robes.

“I am under the impression that you have been here in the Forge for some time…” he started.

“Eight years,” Alyosha supplied helpfully.

Fantasmo tried very hard not to look shocked. “Ah, yes, thank you. You have been here for eight years, and it seems that all you have done is  _ work _ …”

“I still eat and sleep as people do,” Alyosha said.

“Yes, yes, I know, and it is not that I do not find your ethic admirable, quite the opposite in fact, but…”

Fantasmo got that look again.

“But?” Alyosha asked. It was a social gesture, automatically made, though he was starting to feel that the conversation was not one he actually wanted to be having.

Fantasmo made a vague gesture with his hands. “You have the Lord’s blessing, along with the rest of the council. Why don’t you come with me? It could… It could do you some good.”

Alyosha frowned a little. He was right— it was not a conversation he wanted to be having right that moment.

“I still have work to do,” he said. It was the only thing he could say.

“I understand, but were you not able to take a day’s rest before? Are you not able to spare an… an afternoon to see a few other souls?”

Alyosha was silent. Fantasmo watched him, almost pleading. Was he truly so concerned about his well-being? Alyosha was surprised to find that he could not meet his eyes for very long.

From the corner of his vision, Alyosha saw Fantasmo’s shoulders drop just a little at the same time that he heard himself say, “I will consider it.”

Fantasmo stood up again, like a wilted flower given water. “Oh, well of course!” he said, as if he hadn’t a single doubt. “I certainly would not expect you to go  _ today _ … perhaps in, hm, three days time?”

Alyosha could feel his head ache at the mere prospect of measuring three days at the bottom of Hieron. “Ask me in three days and we will see,” he said.

Fantasmo hummed approvingly. He pretended to itch his nose for a moment, but under his hand, Alyosha could spot the shadow of a smile.

Three days was both much longer and much shorter of a length of time than Alyosha thought it to be. However, when Fantasmo arrived to the Forge and posed his question, Alyosha found that he was prepared enough that he could tear himself away from his work.

“Alright, just stand close to me… here… Now, take my hand.” Fantasmo was curt, but his hand clasping Alyosha’s was as gentle as it was firm. He gave Alyosha what he guessed was a reassuring look.

“Hold on tight,” he said, and Alyosha nodded.

It had been a very long time since Alyosha had been party to transportation, and while there was a certain amount of muscle memory to it, like riding a horse, he was still thrown quite off balance. The momentum of re-entry all but threw him against Fantasmo, who thankfully kept him from falling.

“Hrm, my apologies…” the wizard said, helping Alyosha right himself. “I should have warned you that the transportation is a bit… sudden…”

“No, no, it was quite alright,” Alyosha replied. “I have travelled such a way before. I should have known better.”

Alyosha thought he saw a little twitch in Fantasmo’s cheek, and imagined it was because he had realized who it was Alyosha likely travelled with.

“Well, there’s nothing to be done,” Fantasmo said at last. “Come, Alyosha! There is much to show you!”

What Fantasmo showed him turned out to be a remarkable place. The Last University stood on veritable ruins, and many of them stayed as such, but many also had been given new lives as kitchens, cellars, stables, and homes. Alyosha kept getting distracted by these details, and he apologised multiple times as he hobbled to catch up with Fantasmo’s lengthy stride.

Of course, what Fantasmo had to show him was just as fascinating. Together, they walked the ancient halls while the wizard told him stories of his past work there, gesturing where someone might have stood all those years ago, studying or in deep discussion or sometimes in a duel. As Fantasmo spoke, Alyosha thought he saw that almost-smile again.

They visited a while with Hadrian and his family, which brought Alyosha a great deal of joy. He embraced Hadrian and Rosana, and his eyes stung with tears, surprised by just how much he had missed them since his time in Velas. They were older of course, Hadrian visibly greying while Rosana’s blonde hair simply had begun to have the sheen of electrum. However, Benjamin’s transformation from boy to man was easily the most astounding.

“Alyosha!” the young man exclaimed, rushing forward into his arms. Benjamin had grown to be a good half-head taller than him, but he was still careful, even in his enthusiasm.

“It’s so good to see you, my dear. Let me have a good look at you,” Alyosha said. He cupped Benjamin’s cheek with one hand, and Ben looked slightly embarrassed by the attention, but beamed all the same.

“Why, you look just dashing for a young man!” Alyosha grinned, unable to help doting on the boy. All the times he visited the Nurmacher household— checking on them for Hadrian while he was away, having dinner with everyone when Hadrian returned— were starting to come back to him. “And thin as a willow-switch, too! Have you been eating enough?”

“He’s ravenous,” Rosana said.

“Thankfully, there’s plenty enough to go around, nowadays,” Hadrian added.

“Good, good,” Alyosha said, suddenly relieved by the statement, as it implied that their abundance hadn’t always been so. “Well, then, I imagine that you will fill out as handsomely as your parents soon enough!”

Benjamin made a face.  _ “Alyosha!” _ he complained.

Another member of the party who had been standing quietly aside, an oni with dark eyes and skin the colour of lapis lazuli, laughed at the exchange before covering their mouth in sympathy with Benjamin.

“Oh, uh,” Benjamin started, realizing they hadn’t been introduced, yet. “This is my, uh, my partner, Blue J.”

Alyosha smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Blue J.”

Benjamin exchanged a quick look with his partner, then said, “They use ‘they’ for themself, kind of like you did sometimes.”

“Ah, indeed,” Alyosha replied, and saw Fantasmo’s eyebrows go up. “I haven’t used ‘they’ in a while… That is not to say that it is nature for one to grow out of such, of course. I simply haven’t been around other people for so long…”

Fantasmo cleared his throat. “You haven’t been completely alone for a little while, at least,” he put in.

Alyosha looked at the wizard for a moment, surprised, but a smile overtook it quickly. “It’s true. Not for a little while.”

“Well, I can always try calling you Entie Aly again to see how you feel about it,” Benjamin said, ignorant of the exchange of looks between Alyosha and Fantasmo or at least pretending to be.

Alyosha beamed at the young man. “I would like that very much.”

“Ephrim should be up by now,” Hadrian said. “You should have brunch with us!”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Stop trying to make brunch a thing, dad!”

“What?” Hadrian returned. “It’s his breakfast and our lunch! Brunch!”

Benjamin groaned, and Blue J laughed as they lead the group to the main tower.

The meal itself was modest compared to what was once available in cities like Velas and Rosemerrow, but it was warm, and there was plenty of it. There was bread, biscuits, fruit preserves, clotted cream, butter, eggs, some sausages, and lots of tea. It was the first time in many years that Alyosha hadn’t been merely satisfied, but full.

“Here, have you tried this?” Ephrim asked, passing his cup over. “It’s a blend that I was very happy to have after the Winter.”

It was willow-bark tea, undoubtedly; Alyosha recognized its bitterness all too well, but other elements danced more pleasantly across his tongue, softening the taste.

“Is that licorice?” Alyosha asked. “And… chamomile?”

Ephrim grinned. “Better than just run-of-the-mill willow, right?”

Alyosha smiled back. “I may have to ask for the recipe.”

“I’ll send for it, and some tea to take back with you,” Ephrim said.

“You have my thanks.”

There was a long pause. Alyosha took a sip of his own tea.

“I… would not withdraw what I said before,” he said. “However, I am pleased to see that you have been a fair lord.”

Ephrim smiled a little, humbly. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to, Alyosha. It was a good reminder. Thank you.”

Alyosha reached across the table and squeezed Ephrim’s hand warmly. “You may prove me wrong yet,” he said, and Ephrim laughed.

Even Fero smiled when Alyosha came to visit him at the Out House, a lone building beyond the campus-city.

“Hey!” he shouted across the room, holding his arms out in welcome. “You’re not someone I was expecting to see here!”

Alyosha chuckled at Fero’s exuberance. “I was persuaded to take a day off to visit,” he said. He looked back at Fantasmo, and the wizard looked away, grumbling something faintly. Alyosha had the impression that Fantasmo was starting to tire after all the socializing, which made the choice to leave the person who was most his opposite for last seem suddenly poorly-timed.

“Well, that’s good,” Fero replied simply. “People have always been working too hard, in my opinion.”

Fero gave them a tour, and Alyosha complimented the furniture Fero built and his unique set-up of the House as a place for people to go when the University was too much. Fero talked about how he built the furniture, and complained about his busy day. After that, conversation died down, and Alyosha thought best to bow out early in their visit rather than wait until Fero and Fantasmo found a contentious topic and started fighting.

“Thanks for stopping by,” Fero said as they stood in the doorway. “You should come visit another time when I haven’t had a crap day and you can leave Mister Crankypants at home.”

Fantasmo rolled his eyes, but managed to hold his tongue.

“Thank you, Fero. I will try my best,” Alyosha said.

“Don’t try, just do it!” Fero yelled at their backs, and Alyosha laughed and waved.

Fantasmo ended the day by taking Alyosha to the very top of the central tower. It was not like the top of most spires, where there would be a window or perhaps a flat-top balcony. Instead, the secret room was entirely invisible, floor and all, and gave Alyosha the slightly dizzying sensation of floating above the world. However, when he finally settled, he was able to appreciate the sheer beauty of the land spread out below. He could see the whole of the Last University, protected by the shimmering dome of starstuff, and the mountains and forest beyond. He could see the abandoned Great Archives and a river he did not recognize. Beyond that, he could see the ruins of Velas to the north and Rosemerrow to the west, and it made his heart ache. Then, even further beyond, there was the sea that surrounded all of Hieron, glittering and jewel-like in the light of the setting sun, and all the sky was painted gently with the colours of fire.

“It’s beautiful,” Alyosha said.

Fantasmo hummed agreement from his seat next to him. “Yes… Even broken as it is, it is still beautiful, isn’t it?”

Alyosha started to cry.

“O-oh, Alyosha, I’m sorry,” Fantasmo stammered, panicked. “I did not mean that Hieron was doomed. Merely, er, in a rough state?”

Alyosha laughed a little, despite the tears. “No, no, it’s alright, Fantasmo,” he said. He took the dryad’s hand, hoping it was reassuring. “I… I simply was moved by the knowledge that the world continues, even after all that has happened. It is truly one of the things that I love most about this place, this existence… that there is such hostility and such suffering, and yet life moves on. Life persists. It is what I focused on most in the creation of the Verdant. It is…” Alyosha took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. “It is everything I could have hoped for.”

Fantasmo remained quiet. He hadn’t taken his hand from Alyosha’s. There was a smell Alyosha couldn’t place, a green smell like moss and pine. In the ponderous quiet, he realized that it was Fantasmo himself; there had been the same smell when he fell against the dryad after their transportation that morning.

Alyosha cleared his throat, quietly. “Thank you for bringing me here,” he said. “Here, and the Last University as a whole.”

“You enjoyed yourself?” Fantasmo asked. He was clearly eager but trying to seem casual. “I asked Samot about a visit, but I couldn’t find him at all today.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Alyosha said. “As much as I would have loved to meet him once, I doubt he would want to see me, after everything.”

“I suppose so,” Fantasmo said, though he sounded disappointed. “I was only hoping, because we’ve been friends for so long…”

Alyosha’s curiosity was piqued by that statement, but he tried to focus on the matter at hand.

“It will be alright,” he said, giving the wizard’s hand a small squeeze. “Perhaps he will come around next time.”

Fantasmo looked up at him, surprised at first, but then his features softened. The sun had set, and the dryad’s eyes were like twin coals in the falling darkness.

“Yes…” he said slowly. “Perhaps next time.”

* * *

Unfortunately, before there could be a next time, Alyosha fell ill.

It was slow at first. Alyosha found that his fatigue was worsening earlier in the day. Times when he would look up from the anvil and realize he could not remember what he was doing to what Fantasmo had been saying happened more often. Then, one day, he fainted at the anvil and woke to the wizard carefully laying him down in bed.

“Ah,” Alyosha said simply. He knew Fantasmo had placed his blanket on him when he slept in his chair instead of in his bed, but that was the first time he was truly confronted with the knowledge that Fantasmo saw him collapse. Even knowing it was unnecessary, he felt embarrassed.

“Indeed,” Fantasmo said in reply to Alyosha’s acknowledgement. “I believe it is time for you to rest.”

Alyosha wanted to have a retort, but he saw Fantasmo’s distant gaze and his lips pressed into a thin, pale line, and he realized that the wizard was truly scared. Instead, when Fantasmo had tucked him in and made to leave, Alyosha caught his hand.

“It will be alright,” Alyosha said, and summoned a reassuring smile. “This has happened to me many times before.” He did not say ‘I will recover,’ as if he had already known, but he hadn’t known. Simply, he knew that his body was not to be expected to do anything in particular, but simply waited upon and adapted to as circumstances came and went.

Still, the answer seemed to satisfy Fantasmo at least. His high shoulders seemed to relax a little, even as he glanced away and ran an agitated hand through the foliage on his head.

“It is not your duty to cater to my moods,” he muttered, self-consciously.

Alyosha chuckled despite his weakness. “Fantasmo,” he said fondly. “Please, allow me to spare a few words for those I care about.”

Fantasmo froze for a moment at that, then seemed to come unstuck, grumbling something of an assent before hastily excusing himself to let Alyosha sleep. Alyosha let him, because he was tired, but he still smiled to himself, even as he drifted off in the comfortable warmth of his bed.

Alyosha wasn’t surprised when he was still too weak to get up the next day, and the day after. But then it continued still further, day after day, and he realized slowly that he was getting worse. He was sleeping more, spending more time in that twilight place of not-quite-wakefulness where he could hear Fantasmo near him but not hold a conversation with him.

Fantasmo  _ was _ near, more and more often. He had moved Alyosha’s chair from the front of the anvil to the bedside, and he spent many an hour there, studying his books and muttering to himself in the moments when Alyosha didn’t need anything except his company.

“What are you working on?” Alyosha asked one day in one of his more lucid moments.

Fantasmo paused for a moment, then said, “I am looking for a spell of healing, I suppose, or of restoring energy, of rejuvenation. For… for you.”

Alyosha didn’t know how he felt. Angered? Guilty? “There’s no need,” he said.

“I know,” Fantasmo said. He couldn’t meet Alyosha’s eyes. “I just… want to try.”

Something about Fantasmo’s face moved Alyosha. “Alright. You may try.”

That seemed to relieve the wizard, and he dove into his work. The spell he found seemed to work for about a day, easing Alyosha’s weakness enough to allow him to take a small walk and wash himself properly. However, his energy quickly faded away again after that, and each use of the spell seemed to have less effect. Ephrim brought some of the highest quality herbs that Alyosha used in his medicinal teas, but that did not have much effect, either. Still Fantasmo worked, his nose in his books, the fires in the Forge stoked again after countless years to help brew experimental concoctions.

When it came time that Alyosha needed a wash again, he had seen no more benefits from Fantasmo’s trials. The wizard offered to help him, but even as he picked up buckets of water to pour over Alyosha’s small, small frame, he seemed distracted, almost irritated by the task he had volunteered for.

He looked obsessed, Alyosha thought, then with a greater fear, that he looked like Arrell did.

“Fantasmo,” Alyosha said.

“Yes, Alyosha,” Fantasmo replied, crisp and automatic.

Alyosha took a breath, tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “I want you to stop.”

Fantasmo finally looked up from his hands, his face pinched in confusion. “You want out of the bath?”

“No,” Alyosha said, a little bit of frustration creeping into his voice. It already hurt enough to say it the first time. “I… I want you to stop trying to find something that will help me.”

Fantasmo froze, his attention now fully on the man in front of him. “But… Alyosha…” he said. He seemed to struggle for words.

“Fantasmo,” Alyosha said. “I’m dying.”

Fantasmo flinched.

“There is little you can do to stop death, powerful though you are,” Alyosha continued, though his voice wavered. “I would have you stay with me in what time I have left, rather than spend it all so far away.”

Fantasmo looked down at his hands again, which were gripping the bucket he held hard. “You…” He made a frustrated gesture with one hand. “You could have done something sooner. You could have rested more! You didn’t… you didn’t have to work for years like you did.”

Alyosha drew his legs up, feeling his nakedness suddenly. He knew why Fantasmo was speaking that way, but it did not hurt any less. “I made that choice of my own volition, Fantasmo. I knew what I was doing. Please understand. I was alone. My god was dead, and Tutor and I had parted ways… I had no one. I saw it fit to give myself to the Verdant, to the Spring, in hopes that our world would continue to be, that there would always be Something instead of Nothing.”

Fantasmo was quiet for a long moment, still staring at his hands.

“You  _ had _ no one,” he finally said, almost too quiet to hear.

Alyosha’s breath caught.

Fantasmo took one of Alyosha’s hands, looked up at him again, eyes wet. “I do this work  _ for you, _ Alyosha. I… I care about you a great deal, and I would much prefer you to stay alive, you understand.”

Alyosha felt dry and brittle inside, but his eyes still managed to produce a couple tears. “Oh, my dear Fantasmo…” he said quietly, reaching for the dryad’s face.

Fantasmo bowed his head to meet Alyosha’s hand. Alyosha felt the trickle of a tear as it slid down between his fingers.

Perhaps it was foolish, that Alyosha chose to kiss him, then. There were too many things unresolved still— Alyosha mourning Arrell, mourning for himself. Perhaps it was because there could be no resolution that the simple response of Fantasmo’s lips against his felt like such a relief. They kissed each other with the same desperate longing, and it hurt Alyosha even as it comforted him.

Fantasmo brought him off, still kissing him with that same fervor. Alyosha tried to reciprocate, reaching for the shape of the dryad’s erection underneath his robes, but he was too weak to hold on for long. In the end, he could only gasp into Fantasmo’s mouth as exhausted pleasure washed over him.

Alyosha let Fantasmo help him dry off and dress, taking him back to the bed.

“I should… er…” Fantasmo struggled, making for the exit, before Alyosha’s raised hand stopped him.

“Show me?” Alyosha asked. “If you want.”

The curious red spots on Fantasmo’s green skin seemed to glow brighter and redder, but he did not protest. Alyosha watched as he sat in the chair and slowly, carefully opened his robes. His cock was by all accounts a humanoid one; Alyosha guessed that it carried over from the crystalized memories, though even that posed yet more questions, which Alyosha decided not to follow up on. Fantasmo was quiet as his stroked himself, his gaze only occasionally flicking up towards Alyosha, as if self-conscious. As his movements quickened and his breath grew ragged, Alyosha felt the spreading warmth of want, even though he was too weak to even try for a second orgasm. He simply enjoyed the feeling, a gentle lusting he hadn’t experienced since he fell into the Forge. Fantasmo looked up and saw him, watching and wanting, and he came over his hand with a small cry.

Alyosha tried to beckon Fantasmo closer, after, but the wizard excused himself quickly, fleeing with water still cooling in the tub and his hand still soiled.

Even as Alyosha’s condition worsened, they did not discuss that night.

Within a week, Alyosha could no longer sit up on his own. He slept all but a few hours of the day, and he ate and drank little. Fantasmo had told the people at the Last University, and so there began to be visitors at the Forge. Hadrian and Rosana came, and Benjamin with Blue J. Ephrim came with Throndir, then a second time with Hadrian, and the three of them spoke about faith and gods, though not always at the same time.

Fantasmo no longer left Alyosha’s side, instead letting Benjamin ferry people to and fro. Alyosha told Fantasmo that he was a good teacher as much as Ben was a good student, and Fantasmo laughed a little before dabbing at his face with the sleeve of his robe.

When there weren’t visitors, instead of discussing spells and verses, Alyosha told Fantasmo all of his life he could remember while Fantasmo wrote it down. Alyosha was surprisingly grateful— there were a few of his personal letters that were saved when he fled Velas, but between the displacement and his disappearance, whole decades of diaries were lost. Even more so, though, Alyosha appreciated the company, the warmth of Fantasmo near him, his attention on him. It was a new ritual for them, something to bring them together, and Alyosha was more than happy to feed it with more stories. The only thing he didn’t want written down was his involvement with the Spring.

“Even if you keep it for yourself, it will be found someday,” Alyosha explained. “I don’t want to be made into a figure of worship.” Fantasmo clearly objected, but he did not argue, and Alyosha was too tired to ask him for his thoughts again with more care.

Eventually, there came a day that Alyosha felt he could hardly keep his eyes open. It must be time soon, he thought. He tried to ignore the tired old fear that rose in him, instead thinking of what he might say to Fantasmo. They had not discussed his death since that one night.

“Fantasmo,” he said, rasping.

The wizard, who had been reading sleepily in his chair, looked up. “Yes?”

Alyosha didn’t speak immediately, but simply reached out his hand.

As he did so, several Strata above, Hadrian and a handful of Fantasmo’s friends swung a sacred sword at the starstuff that Samot used to strike Hieron with destructive purpose. The Breath and Unity of Ingenuity Alive birthed an entirely new world, tearing the old one apart. The Second Spring grew and grew, in all directions, until it became what would be known as the Rhizome.

Suddenly, roots and branches breached the stone of the Forge. Alyosha felt the jarring sensation of his bed being upended, then horrible pain, like swallowing white hot metal. He clawed at the ground near him— where was Fantasmo? He tried to call for him, but his throat stuck. He could not see if Fantasmo was alright, and that scared him more than his own death, which seemed to be coming much sooner than he expected. He tried to call out again, but the pain was too much. He felt himself being moved again, then he felt nothing at all.

The last thing he had seen was Fantasmo in his chair, book in his lap, raising his hand to reach back.

  
  


* * *

Alyosha awoke to the feeling of a breeze on his face. That struck him as out of the ordinary, considering he thought he had died. He should have passed into the Heat and the Dark and become Nothing by now. Had he been rerouted to Adularia, despite never paying homage to the Queen of Death?

Slowly, his senses came back to him. He heard a strange sound near him, near enough that it felt like it almost came from him. He felt a comfortable warmth around him, like a blanket, with just the breeze on his face.

Soon, he realized that he was being held, and the sound he was hearing was weeping.

“What’s the matter?” he asked dreamily.

He heard the figure take in a breath, and then a hand was on his face, tipping his head up, and he saw glowing orange eyes looking back at him.

“Alyosha?" asked a quivering voice. It was Fantasmo's voice.

“Fantasmo,” Alyosha said, a smile breaking over his face. “I'm so glad you're alright.”

The dryad looked taken aback. “You were worried about me? You… you were injured! You almost  _ died  _ and, and I know you said not to try anything else, but I  _ had  _ to, I didn't want you to go like that, for the last thing you remembered to be…”

Alyosha frowned at Fantasmo's babbling. “What do you mean?”

He sat up— he was surprised he could— and looked down at himself. There was blood on his vestments, but when he pulled them back, there was no visible injury. More shockingly, his legs were green, not the green of rotting flesh but a healthy green, a shade very similar to Fantasmo's. He raised a hand, and he even saw some of the same red spotting on the back. He looked back at his legs, carefully reaching to feel the soft, mossy growth on them.

Alyosha looked back at the wizard. “Fantasmo… what did you  _ do?” _

Fantasmo fiddled sheepishly with the hems of his sleeves. “I'm… not entirely sure,” he admitted. “Whatever just happened to Hieron… it felt like the Spring, but much, much bigger, all at once. And it… called to me. It wanted all of the Verdant to join it, for me to become one with it, but… you were… I couldn't just  _ leave  _ you…” He chuckled a little and wiped his eyes. “I tried to heal you, but it felt like my connection with my magic had been severed. So… I reached into my connection with the Verdant instead. I used as much of my strength as I could, healing you and resisting the pull…” 

Fantasmo shook his head like he could hardly believe it himself. “The result seems to be that you are part of the Verdant as well, now.”

The wizard helped Alyosha stand, and there he finally got a look at his surroundings. The Forge was no more, the stone broken apart by massive branches, and the new growth overwhelmed even the Verdant. Alyosha craned his neck back, but he could no longer see the cavern stretching into the Strata above. The confusing tangle made it difficult to even tell if he was looking up, and he had to lean against Fantasmo for a moment until his dizziness passed.

“By Earth and Sky…” Alyosha said.

“I am inclined to agree,” Fantasmo replied.

Fantasmo helped Alyosha over to one of the numerous pools that had formed, and there Alyosha saw his new reflection. He expected the green and red by then, but it was still shocking to look at. The foliage on his head was a brilliant yellow, like birch leaves in the fall, and his eyes were a faintly glowing gold. As he looked closer, he saw changes in the shape of his face, as well. It was still recognizably his, but he was less gaunt, the hollows under his eyes more shallow. He looked younger, or rather, he looked more his age, rather than sagging under the weight of premature aging caused by the stress he put his body under over those years. He still felt the same aches and fatigue he always felt, but the damage done by the creation of the Spring seemed almost nonexistent. The thought made the breath catch in Alyosha’s throat.

“I want to be cautious…” he said slowly, turning to face the other dryad. “But you might have done it. You might have healed me, Fantasmo.”

Fantasmo looked simultaneously overjoyed and pensive. “Is… is that alright?” he asked.

Alyosha smiled. “It is quite alright for you to save my life, Fantasmo.”

For several moments, they just smiled at each other, overwhelmed.

“How long of a lifespan do denizens of the Spring have, exactly?” Fantasmo asked thoughtfully.

“In theory, they are quite long-lived,” Alyosha replied. “What are you thinking?”

Fantasmo shrugged, smiling his half-smile. “I am merely… looking forward to spending more time in your company.”

That startled a laugh from Alyosha, then tears.

“Oh, my dear Fantasmo,” he said, and embraced him properly.

They stood and held each other for a while, while Alyosha’s tears dried. When they drew back and looked at each other, Alyosha felt moved to lean forward again, and Fantasmo met him. Their kiss was so different from the first; where there was pain, the second time there was only joy and relief. They both laughed and cried (again) between kisses, holding each other’s faces and wiping each other’s tears.

“You are a wonder,” Fantasmo said quietly.

Alyosha laughed.  _ “You _ are a wonder! You took me and rebuilt me from the Spring!”

“As did you with me.”

“...So I did.” Alyosha smiled. “We made each other. How apt.”

“Romantic even, if in a slightly strange way,” Fantasmo added.

Alyosha chuckled again, then pulled the wizard in for another kiss.

Slowly, their kissing became more heated, the lightness of joy and relief giving way to a weightier lust. Fantasmo laid Alyosha down in the clover and ferns surrounding them, and Alyosha pulled him down with him. Naked before Fantasmo again, Alyosha felt powerful, like the blossoms that brought in the bees with their scent alone. Fantasmo looked at him like he was the most beautiful thing in the world, and Alyosha couldn’t help but want to keep that look with him forever.

After a long time laying there, kissing and touching each other, Fantasmo leaned back, sitting up on his elbows. A sheepishness seemed to creep back into his blissful expression.

“Would it be to your liking for me to… penetrate you?” he asked.

Alyosha covered his mouth when he laughed, half-afraid that Fantasmo would think he was making fun of him. “I would love that,” he said, genuinely. “We just would need to find my oil, wherever it’s gone off to.”

Much of Alyosha’s room laid scattered in the branches after everything that happened, and Fantasmo’s magic still hid itself from his grasp. In the end, it took the wizard several minutes of climbing, naked and cursing the whole way, to reach the dresser where Alyosha’s vial of personal massage oil sat, undisturbed by its sudden relocation. Only then were the two able to finally lay down and hold each other, rocking together in that slow and earthly rhythm.

The world around them seemed to shrink as they moved more, the plants huddling closer, dampening the sounds of their strange new world until all they could hear were their own ragged gasps of pleasure. Alyosha pressed back against Fantasmo, urging him on while reaching for himself with one hand.

“Oh, oh, Fantasmo, I’m so close, please…”

“I-I can’t,” Fantasmo rasped in reply. “I wouldn’t last.”

“Keep going if you can, or use your hands if you can’t,” Alyosha said. “I promise it’s alright, Fantasmo  _ please—” _

Fantasmo quickened his pace, and Alyosha cried out, his hands scrabbling at Fantasmo’s back. Fantasmo came quickly, Alyosha’s name on his lips, his hips stuttering. But then he bit his lip and picked up where he left off.

“Oh Fantasmo,  _ oh—” _

Fantasmo swallowed Alyosha’s cries, even as he arched against him as if to buck him off, caught up in exquisite agony. Alyosha shuddered and stilled, his voice high in his throat. Then, only when he had gone slack did Fantasmo stop, collapsing next to him in the clover.

Alyosha rolled over and kissed him again, sweetly, holding his face in both his hands.

“I’ve wanted to do that with you for so long,” he said. “With  _ you.” _

Fantasmo hid his face in Alyosha’s shoulder, suddenly shy. “As have I,” he said, quietly.

Alyosha dipped his fingers inside himself, feeling the pleasant ache the other dryad had left behind.

“You can’t be thinking of more…” Fantasmo said, agast.

Alyosha laughed. “Certainly not. My body would not allow it. Though…” Alyosha aimed a look at Fantasmo. “You  _ do  _ stoke that fire, laying there so handsomely.”

Fantasmo grumbled and hid his face again.

They laid for a while in each other’s embrace, feeling the thrum of new life around them— life that they both were and weren’t a part of.

“With your connection to your magic still severed, it may take quite some time for you to travel to the Last University,” Alyosha said thoughtfully.

Fantasmo nodded. “I likely would have trouble finding them, as well,” he agreed. “Whatever it was that took place feels like it has changed the topography of the world in a dramatic way.” He paused, looking at Alyosha. “If I went to go find them, would you come with me?”

That stopped Alyosha’s trail of thought.

He looked up at Fantasmo. “I… think that I would,” he said.

Fantasmo’s smile was all in his eyes, Alyosha decided.

“I am glad to have you with me on this journey,” he said.

Alyosha smiled back. “Let us rest a while, first. Then we can get ready.”


End file.
